Of Keyblades and Magic
by Dreamscape-Traveler98
Summary: Harry has had enough. His magic has been tearing him apart, and a instictive choice in a near death experiance makes him give up his magic. When a trio from another world come, everything he knows gets further turned on its head.
1. Prologue

_A/N: So, to start, I don't own Harry Potter or Kingdom Hearts. Now that that's out of the way, constructive criticism is appreciated, as this is my first fanfic that I've posted._

He couldn't take being nothing more than a scapegoat or celebrity anymore, yet the hope of having something that would let him leave it all behind was too great. All he had to do was grasp it. Pale hands shook as their owner ran them through messy black hair, a pair of bright viridian eyes staring blankly at the stone wall across the room. The window beside him, the red and gold sheets, even his loudly snoring dorm mates (more specifically, a single dorm mate) were ignored as he tried to swallow around the lump in his throat. He held out one of his shaking hands desperately before him, fingers outstretched as though to grasp something. _"Come on, dammit, work,"_ he thought to himself, his despondency becoming more and more burdensome with each heartbeat. _"Come to me, please, just do SOMETHING!"_ The sound of one of his dorm mates shifting in their sleep had him jumping, wrapping his arms around himself before he grew still as a statue. A few moments later, with no other movement occurring, he let out a near silent sigh of relief. The memory of It swept through his mind. A blade shaped like a key that was at least a yard long from base to tip of the blade itself alone. The "teeth" shaped like a star, an arrow head like shape on the other side, and the handle a dark cylinder.

The hand guard had been square shaped, with the handle having been cutting it in half. And at the end of a chain connected to its pommel, a simple star shape like the teeth. He couldn't remember anything else of it, not it's color, or how he'd gained it, not even how he lost it. Tears pricked at his eyes and, with a flick of the length of wood in his opposite hand, the red and gold curtains around his bed closed and charms that silenced all sounds within activated. With that it was as if a dam broke, and the boy known as Harry James Potter began to quietly cry. A thought occurred to him as he stared at the curtains around him. You cannot truly gain one without giving up the other. He should've known, should've thought things through, _should have-_

 ** _"Are you willing to do it?_** " He was sitting up in a heartbeat, trying to identify the source of the voice that seemed to reverberate around him, both from everywhere, yet no where. He swallowed thickly in an effort to get rid of the ache in his chest, as if something was trying to bash its way out.

 ** _"Are you willing to give up the keyblade?"_** His brows furrowed slightly as he thought. "'Keyblade'? Is that what that sword was?" Something about the name the voice called the sword felt right somehow, and his thoughts soon turned to what it actually asked. He'd never be able to, he knew that. Fear held him in its icy grip at the mere thought. Give up the blade? Never! He shook his head, a nearly silent croak that sounded suspiciously like "No, I'm not," escaping his lips. He shook his head to clear it of the mind-numbing fear as the voice continued.

 ** _"Are you willing to give up your magic?_** " at that he truly stilled for a moment, stifling his instinctive answer against such a question as his thoughts swirled, a single question burning at the forefront. " _What good has magic done for me…?_ " he thought. Memories flashed before his mind's eye, of the troll and the basilisk, of how weak it seemed, of just how much magic hurt him. He never knew he nodded to himself, or of how his dorm-mates awoke one by one, each instinctively aware of the choice before him. One stood from his bed, glancing back at the others as he locked the door to the dorm, the others on high alert, yet none of this mattered to him. What mattered to the raven-haired boy, was that magic had hurt him, and it was unforgivable. Every burst of accidental magic he'd had had always resulted in a beating, and each beating was worse than the last. Even after the worst, when he had been lying in his cupboard, bleeding and broken and dying, begging for death, his magic had healed him. And each time it healed him, it was agonizing. One did not know pain until they felt the burning, suffocating agony of one's core attempting to tear their own body apart, and thirteen-year-old Harry Potter knew it like the back of his hand. A shaky sigh escaped him as the ache grew progressively worse, and he was never aware of how the silencing charms attached to his bed curtains were quickly unraveling, how a red head ripped open the curtains with concern written on his freckled face, not even how his wand fell uselessly from his hand. Awareness had long since left him, something that was made evident by his lack of reaction to both a fiery bird and a old man entering the room in a burst of flame, eliciting wands to be drawn by the room's other occupants. No, all that he was aware of was the answer that thrummed in time with his heartbeat.

"Yes…" The simple answer was given before anyone could so much as blink and, as darkness became all that he could see, Harry opened his mouth and screamed.

Albus Dumbledore had seen many things in his century and a half on this planet. He'd seen two Dark Lords rise to power, making the youthful mistake of helping the first and wrongfully ignoring the fears of the second; he'd seen many a student walk through the hallowed halls of Hogwarts, he'd even gained an apprenticeship under the man who'd made the Philosopher's Stone. However, he'd made many mistakes in his long life, and now feared he'd made the worst in leaving young Harry with his muggle relatives. Yet, in the end, he had never seen one's magic attempt to tear its host apart like it had tried to do so to the boy before him. Harry laid on the hospital bed before him, the far too oversized state of his pajamas far more obvious than it had ever been. His skin was so pale that it was almost translucent, creating a stark contrast with his black locks. The boy's face was pinched with the look of pain it carried, even with how he was unconscious. Albus sighed and rested his head in his hands as he vowed to never fail his students again. As plans for how to achieve this ran through his mind, in a completely different world a spiky haired, blue eyed brunette awoke with a gasp and, fear stricken by the pain in his chest, screamed the one thing that came to mind. A name from his worst memory.

"HOSHI!"


	2. Chapter One

A/N: _I don't own Kingdom Hearts or Harry Potter_

A quivering teen took deep breaths, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. The sounds of waves meeting the shore, something that normally calmed him and gave him a sense of peace, were now deafening. Bright, sky blue eyes flickered about, taking in the room as he remembered where he was. Beige walls covered in childish, aged drawings and photos (the only remnants of how the room had once been), a dresser in a corner, a desk that held a pack of ceramic bowls precariously in one corner, homework that had been newly finished atop it, and an old wooden floor. He was in his room. A sigh escaped him, not of relief but of exhaustion as he stood up. He crept to the open door without so much as a backwards glance and was soon in the hall. Stairs to his left led down to the living room, and to his right was his parents' room with the bathroom at the end. None of these were his target though as he silently stepped to the door across from his, resolutely ignoring the letters across its surface, and opened the door.

A nursery that doubled as a playroom greeted him, eliciting a shaky breath to be released from the teen. The wall closest to the door was painted to look like a sea at sunrise, gradually changing to a beach, then a forest. He smiled slightly, for the barest of moments, a sad smile, as he remembered helping his grandmother paint these very walls in preparation for- he shook his head. Yet, it was impossible to not think of him. Blue eyes wandered the room, taking in the stuffed animals in the corner, the rug that looked similar to sand, the glow-in-the-dark stars both attached and hanging from the ceiling, and then, finally the crib. A crib that seemed out of place with the neat state of the rest of the room. He sighed again as he walked over.

The disheveled sheets alone told a story in and of themselves, looking as though they'd been pulled towards him only to have been tossed away from something. The pillow still laid on the floor, discarded and forgotten, and the white paint of the crib itself was stained with darker and darker grey, as though it was dipped into a gradient of paint. He knew the truth, though. A tanned hand ran through spiky brunette locks as he glared at the stain as if it had insulted him. "It's still stained by Darkness…" he thought. Not just darkness of the night, but true Darkness; the kind of Darkness that lived yet didn't with claws, teeth, and bright yet dead yellow eyes… He shook his head, clearing it of the dark beasts and monsters as he reached inside the crib and pulled out a brown and white toy wolf. A sad smile crossed his face again as tears pricked in the corners of his eyes. He carefully returned the stuffed animal back to its resting place.

"I miss you…" he muttered. A sudden glimmer of light in his peripheral cut off anything else he might have thought as he whipped around to face it, a large key-like sword coming to his hand in a flash of sparks with nary a thought. His grip on the navy handle loosened at the sight before him. A large, ethereal doe stood before him, looking as though it were made of silvery starlight. He shifted a little under its gaze, only to realize it was looking, not at him, but at the weapon in his hand. A gasp escaped him as he glanced down, only to sigh in exasperation at the sword's presence. From golden handguard the tip of its teeth that looked as if his crown shaped pendant had been cut out of it, it was almost four feet long and solid metal, even if it was lighter than it looked. A chain attached to the pommel held a "mouse" shaped charm at the end made of three circles. He dismissed the weapon with a huff as someone else entered the room.

Reddish locks hung to her back in waves, and in her pale hands was a length of wood who's tip glowed white. Bright hazel eyes sparkled with sadness, giving them a dark, marine colored hue. She sighed at how flighty he had become, and carefully stepped forward to rest a pale, thin hand on his shoulder. Too thin, in his opinion. First his kidnapping had taken far too much out of his mother, and then the world had been consumed by Darkness just a decade later, leading the teen himself to disappear for almost two years in the process… He couldn't bring himself to leave again, even if it was to search for-

"I miss him too, Sora," sky colored eyes flickered up to meet his mothers as she shakily smiled, the ethereal doe fading as she continued; "but that doesn't mean he'd want you to mourn." Something steely entered his eyes then, she noticed and lowered the hand holding the stick as the silence between them grew before finally,

"He's not dead, I know it!" Sora stated. The sheer determination in Sora's normally cheerful voice was enough to throw anyone off, be they friend or foe, and both grew lost in silent thought of messy black hair, blue-green eyes alight with innocent joy and a far too young voice screaming " _Sowa_!", " _Mama_!", and " _Dada_!" in terror, and how the then four year old had tried desperately to reach through Darkness to get to and save him even as his parents hadn't been able to… It was the sound of someone falling on the floor below that brought mother and son out of their thoughts, both springing into action and rushing out of the nursery even as a man on the floor below shouted joyfully.

"Sora! Yanagi! They found him, they found him!" his mother's eyes widened and she rushed past him, Sora himself, however stopped dead in his tracks as his mind all but went dead. Before he could so much as string together a coherent thought, Yanagi's sobs reached his ears, and with that he all but vaulted down the stairs. The sight of his parents kneeling on the floor of the living room shocked him, his father's normally rigid figure hunched in on himself as the man wrapped an arm darkened from years of working outside around his mother's thin, shaking shoulders. Light brown hair streaked with grey stood out against the moonlight as deep blue eyes that were almost black flickered up to meet his own. The man gave a laugh that dripped with pure, unadulterated joy.

"Sora, your mentor, Yen Sid…he and the people helping him found him…they found Hoshi, he's alive!" At that, tears streaming from Sora's eyes, he rushed forward to hug his parents as two simple words repeated in his mind over and over. He's alright…

When Harry opened his eyes, he was confused. The first thing that came to his mind was "When did I close them?" He sat up to find himself laying on what seemed to be a plane of…nothingness. Or, at least, it seemed to be nothingness. Blackness stretched as far as the eye could see around him with no end in sight, even as the surface he sat on felt hard and smooth like glass, or ice. Still looking about himself cautiously, he shakily got to his feet, and it was then that he realized: the pain was gone! He unconsciously rubbed a hand against what would normally be a ache just to the left of his sternum with a shocked chuckle as the realization hit him. As much as he hoped he wasn't too badly hurt, or worse, a part of him felt safe here, almost as if- A burst of light below him caught his attention, and he had to shield his eyes with his arms to keep from being blinded by it. What appeared beneath his feet was a beautiful circle of stained glass.

The background was a mixture of deep blues, purples and black with white spots scattered on it like stars. It had a pair of thin golden rings serving as a sort of perimeter within the pane, and between the two rings was a number of smaller rings. Two contained the images of a familiar redhead and a girl with bushy brown hair: his best friends Ron and Hermione. Three contained silhouettes of three people, though he couldn't make even their profiles out. Confusion wracked through him.

"These have to be people who are important to me…" he muttered. His gaze turned first to the images of his two friends, then back to the three unknown figures before he continued.

"If Ron and Hermione have images, then where are mum, dad and everyone else, and who are these three?"

The darkness gave no answer.

Behind a gargoyle statue within the old castle that served as a school of magic, a old man sat behind a oak desk, petting the head of a fiery bird as it trilled out a song of comfort. Stroking his far-too-long beard in deep thought, his normally twinkling blue eyes stared blankly ahead, their somber gaze contrasting greatly with his cheerfully bright blue and white spotted robes. If any of the school's faculty had walked in at that moment, they would've thought something was wrong with how the normally joyful and grandfatherly Albus Dumbledoor was looking every bit the century and a half he was. He sighed forlornly as he gazed about the office at the trinkets on the shelves that puffed smoke and whirled. He waved a hand and they suddenly stopped, smoke clearing with a simple, wandless air freshening charm. He didn't want to lower those specific wards, the ones that prevented travel from other worlds entirely, but he knew he had to. If he didn't, a child he'd spent so long trying to protect from a madman would be killed by the magic that had built up within the stones of the very castle itself; and that was without how the poor boy's very Heart was at a near constant war with the very magic core that he was never supposed to possess.

He scoffed, how one man who seemed unable to be anything but evil once upon a time split his Heart time and time again without loosing his mind, and came out regretful in the end while the child he'd wished he'd been able to help more had become the feared Dark Lord that split his very Soul in half over and over, turning himself into naught more than a mere animal was truly beyond him. A trill from the bird perched on his desk told him it was time. He stood from his chair, knowing there was no going back, and he let out a pulse of magic that took down the very wards he'd both wanted to keep and feared.


End file.
